Compact with the Devil: A Novel (37 page)

“My friends,” muttered Nikki. “My very dear friends.”

“Ah crap,” said Nikki, pulling herself through the heavy, wedged-open elevator doors. Down the hall she saw Duncan run past.

“The dressing rooms are up that way,” she said, pointing to the right. “Jenny, go find Kit and the band. Get them the hell out of Dodge if you can. Jane, go find the control booth and get the elevator turned back on. I’m going after Duncan. I’ll catch up with you.” She was already running as she spoke.

“Duncan!” she yelled, catching a glimpse of him ducking down a hallway that led up to the offices.

“Duncan!” she yelled again, rounding the corner and slamming into his back. They both stumbled and caught their balance. Then Nikki saw the reason for his abrupt halt. Camille was waiting for them, a gun in one black-leather-gloved hand. She was wearing a beautiful black suit and mile-high stilettos. Her makeup managed to hit just the right note between mystery woman and all business. She looked exactly how Nikki knew she ought to look.

“Ah crap,” said Nikki again. Duncan didn’t say anything but shot her a look of frowning disapproval. Apparently, “ah crap” lacked appreciation for the emotional drama playing out before her.

“Nikki,” snarled Camille. “I should have known you were responsible for this mess!”

“We don’t have time for this,” snapped Nikki.

“What did you do, Matthew?” hissed Camille. “Betray Kit to Cano, just like you did your brother?”

“I did not betray Declan,” said Duncan evenly. “Why won’t you believe that Declan went to Cano on his own?”

“Liar!” shouted Camille.

“Dude, we do not have time for this. Kit is in danger.” Nikki knew it was a gratuitous use of Surfer Dude, but Camille, with her perfect British accent and perfect lady-spy outfit, made her feel Keanu-ish.

“Don’t have time?” repeated Camille, the gun never wavering in her hand. “Like you care about Kit. You used him for bait. I read Astriz’s preliminary report. You were waiting for Cano to take another shot at him!” Nikki noticed that under the perfect application of what had to be false eyelashes, she looked pale and pinched. “I should have known.” Disgust dripped from her voice. “Partners follow partners. You’re a traitor, just like Valerie Robinson.”

Nikki didn’t stop to think, she just pushed herself forward. Forgot about the gun, forgot about Kit, forgot about everything. Just walked in on Camille until they were standing inches apart. She could smell the peppermints and coffee on the older woman’s breath.

“Say that again.” She was dimly aware that she had curled her fingers into fists. Camille took a few steps back, trying to bring the gun up between them. Nikki smacked her hand down with an
angry slap. “Valerie Robinson was twice the agent you’ll ever be. Don’t you come at me with your stupid accusations. I do my job.” She advanced again, and Camille backpedaled another step. “Hell, I’m doing your job. And if you were half as smart as you think you are, you’d know that.”

Behind them a door sprang open and rebounded off the wall. Nikki glanced over her shoulder, really hoping to see Jenny. Instead, she saw Ferret framed in the doorway, balancing an enormous shotgun on one hip like a big-game hunter.

“Well, look who it is,” said Ferret. “Pretty girl and Matthew O’Deirdan. I heard you were dead.”

“Gentza?” said Duncan, and Nikki heard the breath catch in his throat.

“He’s with Cano,” said Nikki.

“Ah crap,” said Duncan.

“Oh, don’t pretend you didn’t know!” yelled Camille. “You brought him here to kill Kit!”

“I’m not going to kill Kit!” Duncan yelled back.

“Well, I am,” said Ferret, and raised the shotgun to his shoulder. Nikki tackled Camille as Duncan dove for an open office door. Ferret fired off a blast; the sound was deafening in the enclosed space.

Camille scrambled across the hall and into an office. Ferret fired after her, showering her in wood chips and plaster dust. In the hallway, Nikki spun around on her back, grabbed Camille’s gun, and fired six shots dead center into Ferret’s torso. Ferret looked down dumbly and collapsed to his knees, then went face-first into the floor, like a building imploding.

“Come on,” yelled Duncan, reappearing to pick her up bodily off the floor and pulling her with him. Nikki dropped Camille’s gun.

“What about Camille?” asked Nikki, looking back over her
shoulder at Camille, who was already reloading the abandoned weapon.

“Forget her!” answered Duncan without stopping. “We need to find Kit!”

“Don’t you go near Kit!” screamed Camille after them.

“Is she insane?” asked Nikki, trotting to keep up with Duncan’s long strides.

“She has her good points,” said Duncan, sliding to a stop at a corridor junction and peering cautiously around the corner. “But listening to reason isn’t one of them. Besides”—he dashed across the hallway and Nikki followed—“she feels guilty.”

“For what!?”

“She broke in on Cano and Declan’s meeting. Rumor has it, that’s why it went south. Personally I think Cano would have killed Declan anyway. It doesn’t matter, but if you were Camille, wouldn’t you always wonder?”

“It’s been twenty-five years. How long can guilt last?” panted Nikki.

“A lifetime and more, if you believe the priests,” said Duncan.

Nikki shook her head. “It has to stop somewhere,” she muttered.

Duncan shrugged. “Kit should be going to the stage about now. We’ve got to get him out of here before Cano finds him.”

“Or Brandt.”

“Brandt?”

“He found Cano through the hate mail Cano was sending Kit. He’s paying Cano to kill Kit, with the bonus that he’ll get to kill you, too.”

“The past always comes back to bite you in the ass,” Duncan said, leaning against the wall and looking sick. Nikki shrugged; what little past she had was well behind her.

“Let’s keep moving,” she said, leading the way into the backstage area. “We want to find Kit before anyone else does.”

“Too late,” said Cano.

He had the director, the director’s assistant, and Ewart, the donut-eating stage tech, all lined up against the wall at gunpoint. The assistant was cowering in the director’s shadow. The director, on the other hand, was puffed up in outrage. Ewart, meanwhile, was trying to dig through the wall with his shoulder blades. Flanking Cano were three more thugs and Mongoose.

“By now Gentza and his team have your precious rock star and are waiting for my signal.”

“Gentza’s dead,” said Duncan calmly.

“You’re bluffing!”

“Call him yourself,” Duncan said, taking a step forward. Nikki faded to the right, trying to get closer to the large cement pillars and cut the angle on the gunmen. Cano hit a button on his phone and it burbled just like in the commercials.

“Gentza!” Cano paused, waiting for a response. “Gentza,” he snapped again.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Duncan, edging forward again. “Looks like ya lost your man.”

Nikki looked around for a weapon. The only thing within reach was a table full of canapés and champagne. Nikki wrapped her hand around a magnum and dropped it discreetly to her side. Timing was going to be important here; she had to wait for the right moment. From the stage area the sounds of a restless audience could be heard, then the sounds of ragged cheering.

“Hold it right there!” yelled Camille, charging into the room. There was a burst of gunfire from one of the more nervous weasels, and the room erupted in confusion. Nikki tossed her bottle of champagne, flinging it end over end at the nearest gunman, who
went down like a three-inch kewpie doll. One of the men charged, and she upended the ice bucket on his head, then spun, slamming him into a concrete pillar. Cano and Duncan were locked in a grudge match and Camille was fending off a large brute with a neck thicker than his head. Mongoose fired his TEC-9 at Nikki as she ducked behind the pillar. Diving for the ladder directly in front of her, Nikki pulled herself up the rungs, heading for the gangway above the stage.

“Oh no you don’t,” snarled Mongoose, catching at her foot as she reached the top rung. Nikki stomped on his fingers and he fell the next few rungs, yelping. She gained the gangway and raced toward the other side of the stage, intent on getting to Kit before any of Cano’s men did. But looking down she realized it was too late.

Down below, Jenny was trying to lead the band across the stage, but she was hampered by three more black-clad thugs. Nikki looked around, hoping to spot something useful. The stage was framed by pulley-controlled curtains, which gave her an idea—the only problem being that Mongoose was swinging a bony fist at her face. Nikki slipped the punch, coming in with a hook to the gut. The gangway swayed with their movement, throwing them into a tangle. She caught a blow in the stomach, which pissed her off. She threw a flurry of punches, felt his nose crunch slightly, felt her knuckles sting as they connected with brow bone, felt the weird shift of flesh as her fist raked his lips across his teeth. Then she stuffed a front kick into his chest and watched him stumble back, making the wheezing, gasping sound that told Nikki she had knocked all the air out of him. Nikki cocked her head to the right and considered her next move.

Her next kick sent Mongoose crashing through the guardrail. Flailing, he grabbed for one of the ropes and began a rapid descent to the stage floor. She watched the other end of the rope, weighted
with a large sandbag, rise toward her. Nikki took a step back and then launched herself off the gangway. There was the heart-stopping moment of free fall, then she was fighting for a clean hold on the sandbag. Everything balanced for a moment on the pulley and then slowly she began to sink down toward the floor. There was a jerking stop, and looking up, she saw Mongoose wedged into the pulley. Nikki dropped the last six feet, knowing she looked cool as she landed in a crouch with a huge flapping of black coat, only remembering about the underwear issue a second later. She took a peek at the front row, hoping she hadn’t just given someone a total
Basic Instinct
moment, but they were all staring at Kit and the band as they fought their way across the stage.

Jenny was doing her best, but every time she made progress against their adversaries, Hammond would trip, or Burg would try to tackle the bad guy and miss. The melee swayed in her direction, and Nikki spun around on the ball of one foot, sweeping out her other leg and wiping out one of Cano’s men. Burg let out a huge Tarzan bellow and led the band in a mass tackle. Jenny dove for the one on the left, leaving just Kit and the remaining villain. Kit’s style of fighting was schoolyard vicious—all elbows, knees, and biting. It was effective for football scraps and barroom brawls, but he was outweighed and outmatched. Nikki picked her moment, waited until Kit was shoved free, and then tapped his partner on the shoulder. He spun around and ran his chin into Nikki’s fist. His wore an expression of surprise as he crumpled.

“Come on!” yelled Jenny, charging toward the wings.

“Not that way!” yelled Nikki. But it was too late. The band and Kit and Jenny were heading straight for Cano.

The band had scattered, returning to their natural state of helplessness. The director was still yelling. Ewart and the assistant were back to cowering. Jenny had found a gun. She and Camille were aiming at Cano. But it didn’t matter because Cano had his gun pointed at Duncan’s head.

“I’m getting out of here. You’re going to put down your weapons, or I’m going to put a bullet in his ear.”

“Go ahead,” said Camille coolly.

“No!” shouted Kit from behind the pillar, shaking off the restraining hands of Burg and Richie. “No, Mum, give him whatever he wants. Just don’t let him hurt Duncan!”

“Forget about Duncan,” snarled Camille without taking her eyes off Cano.

“He’s saved my life,” yelled Kit. “I am not forgetting him.”

Startled, Camille looked over at Kit. Cano seized the opportunity; his gun swung away from Duncan and aimed at Camille.

“No!” yelled Duncan, wrenching at Cano’s arm. The pair
wavered for a moment, struggling with the gun, then there was a muffled pop from somewhere above them in the scaffolding as Ellen did her job, and Cano reeled back, gun still in his hand. Duncan reached for the gun, but Cano was already pulling the trigger. There was a flash and Duncan crashed to the floor. Camille screamed and Nikki snatched the gun out of her hand, charging Cano. She brought the gun butt down across his face just as he looked up.

The blow split his eyebrow and sent him stumbling backward, blood streaming down his face. Nikki kicked him in the gut, sitting him down hard, and put the barrel between his eyes.

Cano looked up at her, and she stared into his eyes. In her peripheral vision, she could see his fingers tightening around his gun. “Do you really think I won’t pull this trigger?” she asked, pushing the gun until it tapped against his skull. “I don’t even have to aim at this distance.”

She pushed the thought of what she would do if he kept moving to the back of her mind, but the question flittered around the back of her brain, trying to make its way to the front. Slowly, his hands rose into the air. She kicked the gun out of the way. “Roll onto your stomach and put your hands behind your head,” she commanded. The words were rote. They were out of her training script, but she felt a disconnect in her head. All she could think was that behind her Duncan was dead. The knowledge loomed over her conscious mind like the monster behind the door, but there were a lot of monster back there. She didn’t dare turn around to look.

“Somebody bring me something to tie him up with,” she demanded.

“Here,” said Jenny, producing a pair of handcuffs and tossing them to Nikki.

Nikki rolled Cano over and shoved him against the wall. The director was screaming obscenities in hoarse howls of rage about how
his
show was ruined. Acting with a decisiveness that Nikki had to admire, Camille kneed him in the balls and went to help Duncan. Kit and the band scuttled after her. The band was spouting piffle and pretending they weren’t scared. It was all very British.